


Dog Dean Protracted

by Fledhyris



Series: Bound Verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Bondage and Discipline, Canon Compliant, Caring Sam Winchester, Collared Dean Winchester, Dom Sam Winchester, Episode: s09e05 Dog Dean Afternoon, Fluff and Humor, Heavy Petting, Light Bondage, M/M, Sub Dean Winchester, as a coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 02:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19820599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris
Summary: Set immediately after episode 9:05 'Dog Dean Afternoon'.A good year has passed since the founding events of 'Naga', so they are adjusting comfortably to Dean's collar and hunting together as before, but Sam still has reservations and Dean's needs aren't being fully met. The spell, that let Dean talk to animals to solve their current case, doesn't wear off, and his behaviour is becoming more and more dog-like. Sam has a frank discussion with Kevin and realises Dean needs more attention. After some searching revelations, and with Dean getting back to normal, he gears their relationship up to the next level.Smut/kink in the final chapter. **NO** dog kink.





	1. Chapter 1

Sam stared, his jaw going slack.

“Dean, what the hell? You’re _covered_ in mud; what have you been _doing_ , were you _rolling_ in it?”

Dean just stood there, grinning back at him, all bow legs and arms hanging like he was ready to wrestle. And Sam was so done with trying to catch him.

“Fine,” he snapped, “don’t shower; sleep in your own filth; see if I care. I’m going back to the room, are you coming?”

He wouldn’t actually leave him out here, if Dean dug in his heels. But Sam was sure he’d follow. Well, at least eighty percent sure.

He forced himself not to look back as he walked around the motel lot, and sure enough, he hadn’t gone ten paces before he heard the scrunch of gravel as Dean hurried to catch up. An arm was flung around his neck, grabbing him into a sideways hug that felt more like a football tackle. He stumbled, but Dean caught him, the arm tightening reflexively and hauling him almost completely upright.

“Thanks, but could I breathe a little here, too?” Sam gasped. Dean let go, knuckled the back of his head with painful enthusiasm, and bounded off in front. He turned expectantly at the door to their motel room, that shit-eating grin still plastered across his face.

Sam sighed. “It’s not locked.” Dean hadn’t had any trouble opening the door to get out of the room, and Sam had been too anxious to stop and grab the key to lock up. It didn’t look as though Dean was about to let himself _in_ any time soon, though. Sam sighed again and opened the door, stood back to let Dean enter. He’d learned quickly not to get in his brother’s way; Dean had stopped walking so much as surging exuberantly around the place, like a human battering ram. It was a good job Sam was bigger than Dean or he’d have been knocked on his ass more than just a couple of times already.

Sam took a moment to lock the door behind him to prevent any more escapes. “Dean, _no_ , not on the -” he admonished, moments too late, as Dean charged into the bedroom and leapt up onto the bed, settling cross legged in the middle. Sam’s bed, of course. Sam glared.

“We’re swapping beds, just so you know. You can sleep in the muddy sheets.”

He was just making a point; he knew perfectly well that Dean wasn’t going to sleep anywhere except at the foot of Sam’s bed, whichever one he chose. He was getting used to waking up with dead legs. Dean grinned at him, unrepentant. He hadn’t stopped smiling for two days; it would have been nice to see him so cheerful, but for the circumstances. The spell was showing no signs of wearing off, and ever since they’d handed the dog over to the S.N.A.R.T. couple, had in fact been growing stronger. Dean hadn’t spoken a word in over twenty four hours. Sam wanted nothing more than to high-tail it back to the bunker and lie low while they figured things out, but Dean had left the car somewhere and then buried the keys. It was a problem.

“I’m going to order food,” Sam said, going over to the one big comfy chair in the main room. He checked his messages first; nothing yet from Kevin; he left another brief text. Knew he was harassing the guy, but couldn’t help it. They needed this fixed, and soon. He thumbed through the phone’s browser, finding local delivery outlets; hesitated, decided against pizza. Dean’s eating habits, never cultured at the best of times, were rapidly devolving. He should be okay with a burger and fries. Sam ordered him a milkshake, too; he didn’t think Dean needed the extra caffeine and sugar of a coke, and he sure as hell wasn’t giving him beer.

Dean had gotten bored, or lonely, in the bedroom. Sam had just turned off his cell when his lap was suddenly full of his brother, damp and smelling of earth and stale sweat (and thankfully nothing worse). He juggled the phone, trying not to drop it, his vision obscured by plaid flannel. Something warm and moist was shoved into his ear.

“Dean, stop, no licking!” he remonstrated, pushing futilely. “Dean, NO! Bad...”

Dean drew back slightly, tilting his head as he looked at Sam, the wattage of his smile somewhat reduced. Sam tried to ignore a twinge of guilt. Felt an overwhelming urge to take advantage of the situation.

“I’ll scratch your ears, if you like; but don’t go giving me shit about it when you’re better.”

Dean made some kind of happy noise of assent (there was no way Sam would acknowledge that was a bark) and pushed his face into Sam’s shoulder.

“Yeah, okay then. Oh, you like that? Yeah you really do, don’t you?” He mildly regretted his impulse, thinking he’d just added something to Dean’s repertoire that he’d be pushing for at every opportunity. Still, it was keeping him quiet. Sam lost himself for a while in gentle abstraction, playing with his brother’s ears. It was funny how you never really noticed certain aspects of a person, even though you saw them every day. Dean’s ears were delicate and sort of pointy, flushed pink at the back where they attached to his head, where Sam was gently rubbing; and okay maybe this was getting a little too weird and he should stop.

Dean’s eyes snapped open when Sam dropped his hands and he pouted, actually whined a little, but then there came a knock at the door. The next couple of minutes were a whirlwind of frantic activity as Dean exploded off the chair (winding Sam severely) and hurled a welter of animalistic noise at the door. Sam struggled to block the gap as much as possible while collecting their food and handing over a tip. He didn’t think Dean would bite someone who came with food, but he didn’t want to test the theory.

“Sorry about my brother; he’s, um...” Sam wasn’t quite sure what to say, but the delivery boy, not yet out of teenage spots, was nonchalant. 

“Yeah, no worries man; I’ve got a cousin like that. Still wets the bed, but you’d be amazed what he can do with a computer. Thanks for the tip, enjoy your meal!”

Sam wondered what to make of that, as he closed the door and Dean finally shut up.

“Okay, come and get it,” he said as he unpacked their dinner onto the little table by the window, considerately unwrapping Dean’s burger for him. Dean dived on the food, well, wolfishly, there was no other word for it. Hands were not involved. Half of a bun went flying, and,

“Oh man, that’s gross. Dean, seriously, off the floor..?”

Sam reached for his phone. This was getting out of hand.

“Kevin, please, tell me you’re getting somewhere, anywhere with this!” he gabbled the moment the connection clicked.

“I’m on it Sam, I’m trying, honestly,” came the voice over the phone, “but the spell’s just supposed to wear off so it seems nobody ever bothered with an antidote. I-I don’t know, maybe, I’m just guessing; but try the spell again, with human hair instead of animal? His own, I mean.”

Kevin was working outside his expertise here and Sam wasn’t sure that additional magic was the way to bring Dean back to himself. “Could be worth a try, I suppose,” he answered doubtfully. “Before I have to start taking him outside to pee.”

There was a pause, in which Sam watched while Dean deliberately nosed his cup over and slurped milkshake off the table. “Is it really that bad?” Kevin asked.

“You have no idea,” Sam said tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “NO, Dean, those are _my_ fries… Yeah okay you can have those ones, now you’ve spilled them everywhere.”

“Look, you’re sure you mixed it right?” Kevin was asking. “And he couldn’t have taken anything else; did the chef give him something from the kitchen before you took him out?”

“No, I don’t think so; pretty sure. I mean, I was out of it for a while, but the guy was eating his own “organs d'oeuvre”, you know? Doubt he’d have fed any of them to Dean. He didn’t mention anything at the time.”

“Then… then maybe it’s not about what he’s ingested.” Kevin sounded thoughtful. His food all gone, Dean sat there shifting puppy eyes equally between Sam and his uneaten burger, going cold on the table between them. Sam shot him a quelling glance.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just thinking out loud,” Kevin continued. “I mean, magic, the books all say it’s as much about the psychology of the spell caster as the ingredients, you know? Otherwise anyone could go around casting spells, the world would be knee-deep in witches and shamans. But it’s not actually that easy. It takes a certain mindset, real dedication; you have to believe in what you’re doing, and that’s just for starters. Maybe… maybe he has to concentrate for the spell to wear off, too?”

“So, what you’re saying...” said Sam, slowly. “You’re, what; you think Dean likes being a dog? That it’s not wearing off because he’s okay with it?”

“Something like that, maybe, yes,” Kevin agreed. He coughed. “Sam, I – I don’t want to pry, it’s none of my business and I know I wasn’t supposed to find out about – you know.”

He really wasn’t; but Sam had sort of forgotten Kevin was living in the bunker with them, and he’d walked in on them during a very private moment. Dean had been on his knees before Sam, waiting for him to fit his collar, and Sam had been so horrified by the thought of how it _could_ look that he’d spilled everything to Kevin, desperate for him to understand. Dean, damn him, had just knelt there tranquilly throughout the whole mortifying episode, happy to let Sam shoulder everything.

Sam rubbed his nose again. He was developing a headache. “It’s fine Kevin, you know the score. You’re talking about the collar, right?”

“Yeah,” said Kevin. “Um… is he… does he have it on now?”

“No, he doesn’t wear it on cases, it’s kind of an off look for the FBI,” Sam deadpanned. “Why, you think that has something to do with this?”

Dean’s pleading stare was starting to unnerve him; he was even drooling a little bit. Sam pushed his burger towards him, closing his eyes as Dean attacked it happily, and tried to concentrate on what Kevin was telling him.

“Well, I think… Look, I don’t know much about, uh, that kind of psychology, but; I mean, it’s totally voluntary, right? It’s what Dean wants?”

Like Sam could make Dean do this – do anything – if he didn’t want it? He gave a short, slightly bitter bark of laughter. Not like it ever mattered what Sam wanted, after all. Somewhere deep inside him, something _fluttered_ slightly, as though protesting.

“Yeah, it’s voluntary. Well, not entirely; but I’m not the one making him do it, it’s his own messed up psyche. He needs it, Kevin, it helps him stay… sane. And it’s not like he can just go visit a shrink, you know? With everything we – it just seemed easiest to go along with it. It’s not like it’s a big deal. He’s looked after me my whole life, I just; I couldn’t leave him high and dry, could I?” Was he explaining to Kevin, or arguing with himself?

“Okay, I get it, I think,” said Kevin, hurriedly. “So, he needs the collar, it’s like his security blanket; but he has to take it off when you guys are on a case. But then he goes and casts this spell, and boom, suddenly he’s a dog. And what do dogs need?”

“Um...” It was on the tip of Sam’s tongue to say ‘sausages’ but he knew that wasn’t the answer Kevin was after, however much Dean (especially at this point in time) might agree. “A… a master?” he hazarded instead.

“Exactly!” Kevin was starting to get excited, clearly thinking they were getting somewhere, if Sam was on the same page. “So here you are, he doesn’t have the collar, but you’re still looking after him, right? Still telling him what to do. I heard that about the fries.”

Oh, God…

“I mean,” Kevin went on into Sam’s silence, “it’s perfect for him, if you think about it that way. He’s getting exactly what he wants, and he doesn’t even have to try. You can’t ignore him even to punish him, because he can’t help himself.”

Wait, where had that come from? Sam didn’t punish Dean for his unconventional needs; he thought he was unusually supportive, thank you very much. But maybe he did try to ignore them, as much as he could get away with, which was why he was so thankful they had to stow the collar on hunts. It wasn’t easy, having to be the one in charge all the time. He didn’t blame Dean, but he resented their situation, the rolling snowball of circumstances which made it necessary. Neither of them had chosen this, after all.

“Sam..?”

He coughed. “Yeah; yeah Kevin. I’m still here. Okay. So, if you’re right… then Dean’s just going to carry on being a dog, being under the effects of the spell, unless I give him a reason to – to come out of it? To be… what he wants, but human?”

“It’s only a theory; but it can’t hurt to try, can it?” said Kevin practically.

“Right, well; I’ll let you know, okay? And meanwhile, please, don’t stop looking for an antidote.” He hung up on Kevin’s assurances and sighed. Ran his hand over his face then rested his chin on it, elbow on the table. Regarded his brother. Dean gazed back, looking completely innocent. Sam would have been willing to bet he wasn’t even born innocent.

“So, did you make anything of that?” Sam asked him. Dean’s head tilted, but he showed no sign of understanding. Then again, they’d gotten some pretty specific information out of the little Yorkie at the pound, so if a real dog could be that clued in, who knew what was going on in his brother’s brain. Long as he didn’t start wanting belly rubs…

“Kevin thinks you’ll recover if you put your collar back on,” he went on, scanning Dean’s face minutely. No reaction. “You wanna try that, Dean?” he said, softly. “I like dogs, but right now, I’d really like my brother back. And to find the car, so we can go home. You want to go home, don’t you, Dean? You can wear the collar there, long as you like. Hell, I’ll – I’ll put a leash on it and take you for walks, if it’ll get you being you again.” He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

Dean whined, gave Sam a sad, concerned look. He slid out of his chair and padded around the table without any of his recent vigour. When he came to Sam’s side, he dropped to his knees and thrust his head against his brother’s chest. Sam felt his insides constrict with remorse, raised his hand and stroked Dean’s hair.

“This is my fault,” he murmured. “I’m being selfish, aren’t I; hoping it’ll all just go away if I play along. But you need more than that. You deserve more. Come back Dean, and I’ll try to be there for you more, I promise.”

He rubbed the soft, short bristles at the nape of Dean’s neck, thinking how it felt to hold him by his collar, running his fingers under the soft leather as they kissed. It had become something of a ritual, after the Naga collar’s enforced regimen, and he hadn’t thought much of it until Kevin had surprised them, moments before the act. It wasn’t like they did anything else, and the world hadn’t shattered for either of them. But he realised, suddenly, that they only ever did that while Dean was wearing the collar; it felt too weird, too much like putting out romantically, when it wasn’t there. Did Dean miss kissing, though? Sam didn’t; not exactly; but he wouldn’t mind making it a regular thing, either. Whether on or off mission.

He got up, maneuvering around Dean while telling him gently to “Stay there.” Went to burrow through his duffel and came back to the table with the collar looped around his hand. Dean’s eyes dilated and he tensed, straining towards it without moving an actual muscle.

“You want this?” Sam asked, still gentle; held his hand with the collar in front of Dean’s face. Dean lowered his head, touching his forehead to the collar, then rubbed against Sam’s hand like an animal that wants to be petted.

“Okay, you got it,” Sam murmured. “But you have to come back, Dean; I put this on you, you have to stop being a dog, all right? Let the spell go and be my brother again.”

He reached around Dean’s neck to fasten the collar. Slid his fingers between the thin leather and Dean’s warm skin. Realised that yes, he did miss this, just as Dean raised his face, and he stooped his own for the ritual kiss. He held it for a long time, sweeping languorous circles with his tongue around Dean’s. Strange, how quickly he had become accustomed to something so taboo.

When he finally, reluctantly, broke the kiss, Dean stared at him for a moment, bemused; then a small frown creased his brow. “Sam..?” he said, just that one word, but relief flooded through Sam to hear him speak again.

“Hey, Dean. Welcome back,” he grinned, and ruffled his brother’s hair.

“Wha..? I didn’t go anywhere – did I?”

“You tell me,” said Sam. “Nowhere physically; kinda lost you inside your head for a while though. What was it like being a dog, can you remember anything?”

Dean’s frown deepened. “Not sure. I was… here, with you, so… I was happy. That’s all I can really make out. It’s like… the memories are all jumbled up, impressions; there’s no timeline to make sense of. Guess it takes practice to think like a dog. Why’d I lose it, in the first place? Wasn’t the spell supposed to wear off?”

Sam smiled a little crookedly, stroked his hand down Dean’s cheek. Felt a pang as Dean leaned into the touch. “Yeah. Apparently, I’ve been neglecting you. We’ll fix that. But right now, I could do with some food. Let’s go check out the bakery cafe, you can say hi to the Colonel.”

“The vegan bakery, you kidding me?” Dean made a face, then patted his stomach thoughtfully. “I’m feeling kinda full though anyway, to be honest.”

“Yeah, that’s because you ate my burger as well as your own, greedy guts.”

Dean’s face was a picture of chagrin. “I ate your dinner? Sam, I –”

Sam started laughing. “Yep; right off the table, too. And the floor.”

“You let me eat off the floor?” Outrage tinged Dean’s voice, just the tiniest hint. Sam was well aware that if he ordered Dean to eat off the floor, he’d do it happily. Probably lick it clean into the bargain.

“Didn’t really get the chance to stop you. You were like a ravening hound. And you drooled.”

Dean shot him a comical look, indignation mixed with dismay.

“Oh yeah, you’ve been a barrel of laughs exploring your canine side. Let’s see. Licking my ears; sleeping on my feet; barking at the burger delivery guy; refusing to shower and then breaking out of the motel and running off when I tried to make you – oh, and then you went and rolled in a muddy puddle or something.”

Dean looked down at himself, made a face, looked back up at Sam, contrite. “I – I wasn’t a very good dog, was I?” he said in a small voice.

Sam touched his face again. “Hey, it’s okay, you weren’t that bad. My fault for not taking better control. You should always blame the master, not the animal. Anyway, you’re not a dog any more, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, I’m… not so sure about that.” Dean took a sniff of himself, grimaced, and rolled his eyes. “I should really take that shower.”

“Yeah, you should; I’m not taking you into town like that.”

Sam waited; Dean just knelt there, not moving.

“So – go shower already! Come on, move it, I’m hungry,” Sam ordered.

Dean looked… apprehensive?

“What’s the matter? You’re not telling me you still...”

“’M scared,” Dean admitted, so quietly Sam wasn’t sure he’d heard right; then he did a double-take. “You’re – seriously? Dean, you rolled in a puddle, how is the shower scary?”

“I don’t know, it just… it’s not natural. It… brrr.” He shivered, looking up at Sam pathetically.

Sam stared back, at a loss. Then he sighed (he’d been doing that a lot lately) and came to a decision. “Want me to help?” he offered.

“Um… yeah. Please?” Dean looked like Sam had just thrown him a lifeline, instead of the increasing weirdness this day was piling on them.

“Okay.” Sam got up and went over to the bathroom. “But you’re washing your own ass,” he threw over his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam turned on the shower, checked the water temperature.

“Right, get in here,” he instructed. Dean sidled apprehensively into the room.

“Clothes?” Sam prompted. “Uh – better keep your shorts on, for now.” 

Dean stripped slowly, not because he was doing it in front of Sam, but because of the shower. He kept eyeing it, throwing it fearful glances as he undressed. He was clearly exerting himself not to bolt, like he’d done this afternoon.

“C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Sam said gently. “It’s just water. You wouldn’t mind if it rained, would you?”

“Rain’s natural,” Dean grumbled. “And it’s not that… strong.” The motel had good water pressure.

“Dean, you love showers. I can’t normally get you out.”

Dean threw him an agonised look. “I know! Sam, what if I can’t – what if this never goes away? What if I hate showering for the rest of my life?”

“I’m sure it’ll wear off.” Sam tried to sound reassuring, but the thought had occurred to him, too. Worse than Dean taking forever in the shower, and using up all the hot water, was the idea of having to nurse him through it every day. “Anyway, not all dogs hate getting washed. Maybe it’s just something you have to get used to.”

Dean looked dubious, but he peeled off his socks and was ready at last.

“Okay good,” said Sam. “Now, get in the shower. Come on,” as Dean hesitated, “it’s perfectly safe, I’m right here. I can’t get in with you, there isn’t room.” And things were weird enough as it was.

Dean stepped into the cubicle as gingerly as if it were full of snakes. Stood there looking hunched and miserable as the water cascaded over him, his tongue flicking out rhythmically to lap the drops as they ran over his lips. He made absolutely no effort to wash himself. Sam was going to have permanent marks either side of his nose if he kept having to pinch it like this. Another sigh.

“Okay, how about I do this, it’s getting late,” he suggested, rolling up his shirt sleeves. Dean just looked at him, mournfully, so Sam reached for a washcloth, got it all lathered up with soap. Rubbed Dean all over, quickly and efficiently, except for beneath his boxers.

“Um… think you can manage the last bit?” Sam asked, not too hopefully. No response. “Dean,” he injected some firmness into his voice, “wash yourself.” He pressed the cloth into Dean’s hand. Dean took it, but just let it dangle; he was shivering, although the water was perfectly warm, and the whites of his eyes showed all around.

“Dude, seriously?” Sam muttered under his breath, but he knew he’d have to do this, too. It was fine, he reasoned; plenty of people had to have help in the shower, and he was no stranger to Dean’s body. They’d patched one another up after fights, just about everywhere you could think of; and they were so used to sharing accommodation, tiny living quarters with even tinier bathrooms, they thought nothing of being around one another without clothes. 

“Okay, I got this,” he said, gritting his teeth as he carefully peeled down Dean’s shorts, letting them puddle around his feet. It wasn’t as though there was anything kinky in having to wash your brother’s balls, he told himself; at least he didn’t have an erection. Quite the opposite, actually, which was probably down to his fear of the shower. Sam realised he was stalling, which meant he was staring at Dean’s limp dick a lot longer than he needed to be, and Dean was just standing there, letting him do whatever… Sam swallowed, curbing several irrational impulses. Raised the sudsy cloth and tackled the last areas resolutely. There was no way he was getting turned on by his wet, naked brother. No way in Hell.

He straightened, dumping the washcloth in the sink as the water rinsed the last of the soap from Dean’s skin. The collar stood out, gleaming dark against the white of his throat, a soft sheen on the leather. Sam would have to take care to dry that, he thought, so it wouldn’t harden and crack. He wondered suddenly what Dean usually did when he showered; did he remove the collar or keep it on? It would be practical to take it off, but Sam felt a twinge of possessive jealousy, hoping his fingers alone ever worked that buckle.

Sam reached to turn off the shower. “Okay,” he said a little gruffly, “you can come out n- hey, HEY! Watch it..!” He pressed himself as far back into a corner as he could, as Dean leapt out of the shower and shook himself off; just like a dog. Sam thrust out a towel and Dean took it, grinning, relief spread across his face. He was suddenly active again, perfectly able to dry himself off and hunt out clean clothes.

“C’mere,” Sam said softly, when Dean had finished dressing. Dean went over to him and knelt automatically, looking expectant. Sam felt more keenly aware than ever how this put Dean’s face on a level with his crotch, although he was looking up into Sam’s eyes.

Sam snagged the damp towel from the bed where Dean had casually abandoned it.

“Gotta take care of this,” he explained, gently polishing the dark leather. “What do you usually do, Dean? I never thought about it before, but water can’t be good for it.”

“Oh, yeah; actually, I treated it with water repellent,” Dean replied. 

Typically practical; Sam smiled. “What, while you were wearing it?” he asked, half teasing, half… he didn’t really know.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, then snapped down into a frown. “Of course, I never take it off. That’s for you to decide.”

Sam swallowed, thickly. “Good… good. That’s my – that’s good, Dean.” He hooked his fingers under the leather, pulled gently but insistently until Dean scrambled to his feet. Bent his head, still maintaining a firm grip on the collar, and pressed his mouth to Dean’s in a bruising kiss.

“Okay: food!” he said finally, drawing back reluctantly.

Dean’s eyes dropped and the corners of his mouth turned down. The expression ‘hang dog’ had never been so apt, Sam thought. “What’s up now?” he asked with a small smile; figuring Dean would rather keep kissing. It was all right for him, he’d eaten two meals already!

“I just…” Dean closed his eyes and swallowed. “You only just put it back on and I…”

“Oh, the collar?” Sam gripped Dean’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “That’s fine, Dean. You can keep it on. Not like we’re working the case any more. If anyone thinks it’s a little odd, well… Let them.”

Dean stared at him, his eyes soft with gratitude. This would be the very first time Sam let him wear the collar outside, in public. He realised they were going to have to come up with something to disguise it, if he was to continue to wear it and work cases at the same time. Even with a shirt collar and tie, the collar would be visible, it rode too high around Dean’s throat not to show. For now though, they were dressed like civilians, and visiting a pretty alternative venue; probably nobody except the Camroses would give the collar a second glance. Well, no more than a third. And they had enough over the S.N.A.R.T. couple that they wouldn’t dare say a word.

“C’mon, let’s get going,” Sam said, heading for the door. “We have to walk, Dean; I have no idea where you left the car.”

“What?” Dean leapt to Sam’s side. “You mean I - oh shit, how long has she been gone? Why didn’t you tell me? Screw showering, we should be out looking for my car! Anything could have - what if I didn’t lock her up? Where are the keys?!”

“You tell me,” Sam grimaced as he locked up, Dean jigging impatiently beside him. “At least they’re not in the car. You buried them. It was the last thing you told me. Apparently, to keep them safe. You’ll have to hotwire her.” He set off toward town.

Dean groaned. “Can we walk faster, please?” He kept doing a strange little shuffle as they walked, his steps almost dancing. It took a while for Sam to realise that he wanted to stride off but was trying not to get ahead of his brother. Dean typically took the lead when they were going anywhere; this must be something to do with the collar, Sam guessed.

“Calm down,” he ordered, noticing that Dean did make a heroic effort to obey, but was clearly still anxious.

“Look, stop worrying,” he tried to reassure him. “The Sheriff would have called if anything had happened. It’s probably parked safely enough.”

“Yeah, and a prime target for that asshole pigeon,” Dean muttered. “I swear, if he’s got to her…”

“No shooting pigeons,” Sam said, firmly. At least this time he could be pretty sure Dean would do as he was told.

As they neared the centre of town, Dean began looking around as though getting his bearings; he even sniffed once or twice, as though trying to pick up a scent. Sam let Dean lead the way, not by hanging back, but by keeping careful note of when he paused or turned to check out a particular street. That way, he could steer him unobtrusively to where Dean wanted to go, so that it still seemed Sam was calling the shots. 

Dean stopped suddenly in front of a grassy plot at the side of a store. A short, scraggly tree reached up to a service balcony and a line of bushes flanked the blank brick wall.

“This is it!” he said excitedly, turning to Sam.

“This is… what?” Sam asked, nonplussed. “You parked the car here?” If he had, it certainly wasn’t there now, but Dean didn’t seem upset.

“No, man; this is where it got away, I remember now.”

“Where what got away? Dean, you’re not making any sense.”

“The cat!” Dean gesticulated to the tree, acting as though it were obvious. “I was just coming back to the car, when this cat ran past, and I followed it here but it climbed up the tree onto that balcony, so I couldn’t catch it. But I can retrace my steps and find my Baby!” he finished, happily.

“You chased a cat?” Sam shook his head, imagining how that must have looked to anyone in the vicinity. He just hoped Dean hadn’t barked into the bargain. At least he hadn’t caught the poor animal. Cats were pretty fast on their feet, even a (real) dog wouldn’t have had much luck, so his (physically) human brother had done well to follow it this far. The car probably wasn’t far.

“You should have heard it,” Dean said absently as he prowled around the tree, then started poking among the shrubbery, apparently searching for something. “The language that critter used..! I’ll never look a cat in the eye again.”

“Well you did chase it up a tree,” Sam said reasonably. “Dean, what are you doing? The cat’s gonna be long gone.”

“Nah,” Dean said, bending down to poke at the ground under a bush. “Not the cat. Pretty sure I - yep!” He scuffed aside some old leaves and stood up, grinning from ear to ear. He held up his hand; the keys to the Impala dangled from his fingers. “Found ‘em!”

Sam stared. “Seriously, _that’s_ where you buried them? Some random bush where you scared some poor cat half to death? What were you even thinking?”

“Don’t remember,” Dean answered, insouciantly. “Don’t matter. Got ‘em now. C’mon Sammy, car’s this way!” He bounded forward, checked, turned on the spot and stood there, bouncing slightly on his heels and waiting.

Sam grinned and clapped a hand to his arm as he passed him. “C’mon then, don’t worry about stepping out in front; just show me the way,” he instructed. Dean shot him a wide smile and took off, not quite running; Sam loped easily along behind, smiling to himself.

They found the Impala two blocks away, in a small parking lot attached to a mini mart. Dean ran over, crying out “Baby! I’m so sorry girl, I am the lousiest douchebag to ever hold a licence,” and lay down across the hood, throwing his arms as wide as they would go. Sam just stood and watched, smirking a little. He ran his eye over what he could see; the paintwork looked fine, no smashed windows, which was lucky for the residents of Enid. He wasn’t sure even his direct order would prevent Dean from hunting down anyone who had harmed the love of his life.

Dean got up and stalked around the car, checking minutely for damage; and probably pigeon crap. Finding nothing, he grinned broadly at Sam as he unlocked and opened the driver’s side door. Was about to get in; in fact was already half inside, folding his body to sit down; when he stopped and manoeuvred himself back out on rewind, in an impressive display of muscle control. His head popped up over the top of the car and he met Sam’s eyes, looking chagrined.

“Uh, unless you wanna..?”

Sam waved him off. “It’s fine Dean, you need to rebond with your Baby.” He opened the passenger door and slid inside to forestall any argument. Dean could be incredibly stubborn in the pursuit of what he saw as his duty, which only intensified when wearing the collar, and Sam really didn’t want to fight over the Impala, especially when Dean had only just got her back.

The Gentle Earth Vegan Bakery wasn’t far, only on the other side of town. There were closer venues where Sam could have picked up a meal, but he’d liked the look of some of the things on the menu (not being totally opposed to the concept of food without animal products, unlike Dean) and he thought Dean would probably like to see his dog buddy again. It would be nice if this case changed Dean’s view of dogs; up ‘til now he hadn’t been their biggest fan, but Sam reckoned seeing things from the other side of the fence might make a difference.

The sign on the door indicated five minutes to closing and they were the only people here, but Sam figured they had leeway. 

“Agents!” Olivia Camrose met them with an anxious smile, her eyes shifting between the two. If she noticed Dean’s collar she was too polite to let on, but Sam thought he caught a puzzled frown. “I thought you’d left town already; is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” Sam smiled back reassuringly. “We’re off duty; had to stick around a little longer than anticipated. Car trouble. Thought I’d drop by and try your baking.” He turned and frowned at Dean, who was making gagging gestures, none too subtly. Dean put on an air of innocence (not nearly as convincing as his earlier look) and pretended to study the counter display.

“Oh, that’s great!” the woman enthused, ignoring Dean in favour of new custom. “We’re just about to close, but you’re welcome to stay, of course. Dylan should be back any moment, he’s just taken the Colonel outside. Come sit down, I’ll get you a menu.”

Dean waited, hovering by his chair until Sam had settled; he had difficulty arranging his long legs under the spindly little table, eventually opted for sticking them out to either side of the central pedestal. When Dean did finally sit, it meant their knees rubbed together, but Sam didn’t move away. Olivia’s husband showed up with the dog just as Sam was ordering, and the big German Shepherd whined as he came trotting up to the table, and shoved his head right into Dean’s lap. 

“Hey, buddy! Good to see you again, too!” Dean tousled the dog’s ears.

“Hey, Hoss!” the Colonel greeted him happily. Only Dean could hear him of course, through the agency of the spell, which it seemed still hadn’t fully worn off. He put his paws up on Dean’s knees and licked him on the chin. “So, you finally joined the collar club? Figured that about you. He treating you okay?”

Dean laughed, fending the dog off. “Yeah, no complaints. What about you, how’s the hippie life?” He spoke quietly, under cover of Sam talking to Dylan while Olivia headed to the kitchen.

“Aw man,” the Colonel grumbled, “Dylan and Olivia are okay, they’re good people. But are you sure they know I’m a dog? The stuff they feed me, it’s really messin’ with my guts. You couldn’t put a word in, could ya?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dean answered, rubbing the dog’s ears until his eyes closed and his tongue lolled happily.

“Dogs really seem to like that,” Sam commented, with a small smile. Dylan had gone over to the counter and was starting to clear up.

“Yeah, we - uh, they do,” Dean responded, ducking his head as his cheeks flamed.

“We can give it another try, if you like,” Sam suggested, and Dean’s expression was caught between hopeful and wary as he lifted his eyes back to Sam’s. Sam gave him his most sincere smile and won a heart melting look in return. Dean’s answering smile was shy but warm, lighting up his eyes.

“Later, though,” Sam added, mischievously. “Think you’ve given people enough to talk about in this town. FBI agents wearing leather collars and chasing cats; barking at the burger delivery boy. Pretty sure he thought you were autistic.”

Dean’s expression shifted quickly to indignation, making Sam chuckle. It was some small payback for the run-around Dean had given him over the last couple of days.

“So, how’s the dog?” Sam asked. “You still..?” He cupped a hand to his ear.

“He’s good,” Dean answered, still petting the Colonel, who looked frozen in canine ecstacy from all the attention. “Vegan diet isn’t agreeing with him though. Think I’d better have a word with Olivia about that. What were you talking to Dylan about?”

“Oh, he was just filling me in on the other night,” Sam replied, his voice low. “Word around town is, local chef had gone nuts, was using all kinds of animal parts in his recipes. Picked up strays from the local shelter; must have been rummaging around in the taxidermist’s offal bins when he was disturbed, so they’ve got their guy for both murders.” They exchanged a meaningful look.

“Word around town say anything about… how the chef bought it?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, they figure it was an animal attack; reckon he must’ve been trying to add dog to the menu, and the dog objected. They don’t, uh; they don’t have any suspects.” Sam glanced at the Colonel, who was doing an excellent impression of an animal that would never dream of biting a human. Not that the chef had been entirely human, at the time.

At this point, Olivia came back with Sam’s grilled falafel, quinoa and avocado wrap and almond ‘milk’ shake, and a muffin that Dean considered stealing, until he thought about what was in it; or more to the point, what wasn’t, which was just about every ingredient he considered vital to a muffin. Besides, he remembered with a twinge of guilt, he’d already stolen Sam’s dinner once today.

Sam tore off a piece of the wrap and offered it to the Colonel, who sniffed at it politely then turned his head away with what Dean could have sworn was a wince.

“Do I look like Bugs Bunny to you?” the dog groused. “Don’t know how you can stomach this stuff.”

“Hey, Olivia?” Dean called the woman back. “Uh, how’s the Colonel doing on his new diet, he eating okay? Any, uh, digestive issues?”

“Oh dear,” she smiled brightly at them both, “did he..? I’m sorry, he has been a little gassy. Well I expect it will take some getting used to.”

“Thing is,” Dean put on the charm offensive, leaning over confidentially and flashing her a disarming smile, “dogs are predators. They evolved to eat meat. Not sure he’s ever really going to get used to the green stuff.”

“Oh…” Olivia’s smile dimmed and she looked like she was giving this some thought.

“You might consider supplementing his diet to keep him healthy,” Dean continued with unusual diplomacy. “Not every day, maybe, but you know; at least three or four times a week. Don’t forget the founding principles of S.N.A.R.T.” The acronym stood for Show No Animal Rough Treatment, but while the couple would never deliberately hurt their new pet, negligence surely counted too.

“Yes, you might be right; oh dear,” she responded, a little flustered. “I had been thinking about it already, to be honest. It’s starting to drive away custom, but I don’t like to shut him in the back all day, on his own.”

As if on cue, the Colonel’s stomach rumbled and a sulphurous stench rose up. “Dude,” Sam muttered, making a face, and he leaned back in his chair with his milkshake.

Dean forebore from commenting. Sam could be pretty gassy himself, especially after spicy food, but Dean tried to be on his best behaviour when he was wearing his collar.

“See what I mean?” said the Colonel, unrepentantly, at the same time as Olivia was saying “Okay, come on big guy, into the back with you. Let’s let the nice FBI agent finish his dinner in peace.”

“Bye Colonel; you be a good boy for these two,” Dean said, giving the dog one last fondle.

“Bye, Hoss. Thanks for trying. You take care of yourself; and don’t forget what I told you last time!” The Colonel dropped back to the floor and trotted off after his new owner.

Sam finished his milkshake, swiped up the muffin to go. They said their goodbyes and left the shop, Dean in his unaccustomed position behind his brother instead of hurrying out up front. It was jarring to Sam, he kept having to turn to check he was still there.

“Dean,” he said, “I get that you’re trying to show respect, but I’d rather you walk beside me than trailing behind. Least then I can talk to you.”

Dean moved closer, but not entirely level. Sam supposed he was just going to have to get used to it. As they got into the car, he said, “Okay, you wanna head back to the bunker right away, or spend one more night at the motel? Room’s already paid for.” And Kevin was at the bunker, which wasn’t really a problem, he minded his own business; but Sam had the feeling Dean was going to need some special attention tonight, and it would be good to know they couldn’t be disturbed. That reminded him, he’d better text Kevin with the good news about the spell.

“Can we stay another night?” Dean asked, sounding hopeful and… something else. He was giving Sam a sideways look under his lashes, which did funny things to Sam’s stomach, even though he had no intention of doing anything beyond cuddling. Well, and maybe a good bit of kissing. That would be new, and he was looking forward to it, in a nervous, tentative sort of way. It was stepping their relationship (or whatever this was) up a gear, and he didn’t want to push Dean, but it looked like they were on the same page about this. Also, he felt a little guiltily that he owed Dean for maybe not being as attentive to him as he should have. He realised that Dean was still waiting for an answer.

“Uh, sure,” he replied, “one more night it is. You going to take us back there then or are we spending it hanging around in the parking lot?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve nothing against vegans (I’m a vegetarian myself) but I don’t think it’s right to deprive carnivorous species and I sure as heck don’t think Dean would support it! I also wasn’t making jokes at the expense of people on the spectrum. I’ve plenty of personal experience in that area, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam reached for his phone and messaged Kevin as Dean turned the ignition and backed the Impala out onto the road. They were soon back at the motel, and Sam frowned, wondering how to pass the evening. It wasn’t really late enough to head to bed. Usually by this point after a hunt, with nothing else to research, they would be on their way. 

He studied Dean, who was obviously buoyed up with suppressed anticipation, but still managing to look calm and composed. It struck Sam, now he was seeing him away from home in an environment where Dean was usually his old self, how unlike him it was to stand around, apparently content to wait for Sam’s lead. The old Dean would have been fidgeting, snarking, making noises, his boredom on passive-aggressive display. Collared Dean was really a strikingly different person. Being in charge all the time was a little tiring; ironic, considering how many years he had chafed at Dean taking control. Be careful what you wish for, he thought wryly. But it had its compensations. It made his brother a lot easier to live with, polite and attentive - and much more laid back than Sam had seen him in years. Wearing the collar, and the relief; the release from responsibility which it gave him; seemed to take Dean right back to pre-Hell levels of assurance and self-confidence, but without that brittle, competitive edge of cockiness that had always tended to rub along Sam’s nerves. 

And Sam knew what else helped Dean to relax, as counter-intuitive as it seemed.

“So,” he said, noticing how quickly Dean’s eyes flicked to his, and stayed there, when he started talking. It was another of those differences he still hadn’t become used to. “I’m thinking you probably want to stretch?”

Dean breathed in sharply and his eyes closed momentarily. “Yeah,” he said, voice roughened with desire, “but… the rig’s back at the bunker, isn’t it?” He looked hopefully at Sam, who, no, had not packed it up to bring out on a case; but,

“We’ll improvise,” he said, smiling. “Go lie down. On the clean bed.”

Dean wanted more than just to be collared and submissive. He liked being restrained, stretched out with his muscles taut to just below the threshold of pain. He claimed it helped him to stay calm and centred and it certainly seemed to settle him whenever he was growing antsy. Before the collar, Dean had found it impossible to stay still; he had discovered new depths of determination and self-control in bondage, and they were continually exploring and working out new methods. Sam had designed the suspension rig Dean referred to, really just a simple pulley and tackle thrown over a beam in the library, which allowed him to curl up comfortably with a book while keeping an eye on his brother. He didn’t usually engage much with him, beyond helping him to get set up; Dean just liked to kneel with his arms stretched up over his head. He could stay for hours like that, in a kind of trance, apparently intent on beating his own personal record; and afterwards would be as relaxed and content as though he’d visited a health spa. But tonight, Sam wanted to do things differently. He wanted to get more involved.

He followed Dean into the bedroom, where he had lain down obediently on the bed. Sam leaned over and tapped the headboard, which had an open, grille-like pattern of wide bars. “Hands on there,” he ordered, and Dean raised his arms and grasped hold of the bar above his head. He scooted downwards, stretching himself out, causing his shirt to ride up beneath him and expose the skin and tight muscle of his flanks. That would have to come off, Sam decided; both to ensure there were no restrictions to Dean’s circulation and (because yes, he was doing this; it wasn’t taking advantage, the past few days had proved that Dean needed, wanted more) to give him easier access. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to unbutton his brother’s shirt. Dean watched, his eyes gleaming and a tiny smirk hovering at the corner of his mouth, but he kept his hands clamped obediently to the headboard and said nothing.

“Sit up a moment, get these off,” Sam instructed. Dean made a soft noise in his throat, a little like a groan crossed with a growl, and proved the efficacy of Sam’s enforced exercise regime by jack knifing upright from the waist. He shrugged off shirt and t-shirt in one fluid movement and lay back down, hands going back to the headboard.

Sam turned away to rummage in their bags. They didn’t have much to work with, but he turned around to show Dean the neck ties from their Fed suits, dangling from one hand, while the other clutched their belts. The ties would be softer and more secure; however, he wasn’t surprised when Dean’s gaze went to the belts. It wasn’t so much about restraint, about not being able to escape, as support and tactile sensation, and the leather would remind him of the wrist cuffs that attached him safely to the suspension rig.

“You need to go to the bathroom or you good for a while?” Sam checked.

“‘M good, Sam; c’mon, tie me up already.” Dean was starting to get impatient. Sam buckled him into the belts, winding them around and around each wrist and the bar of the headboard. They were loose enough that he could wriggle out of them, given time (and the inclination) but would hold fast enough to prevent his hands from slipping when he let go. He could also curl his fingers around the leather, grabbing hold like a handle, if he wanted leverage.

Dean tested the bonds. “S’good,” he grunted.

“Okay, let’s get some tension in there,” said Sam. He helped Dean to wriggle down the bed and stretch out as much as possible, pulling on his legs until he drew in a gasp.

“Enough?” Sam asked. Dean looked back at him, his eyes wide and guileless, and Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Be honest, Dean; I want this to stretch, not hurt. We’ve got plenty of time and you’ll regret it if you overdo things. Scoot back a bit if it’s too much.”

Dean made a face but he did wriggle up an inch or so. His feet dangled over the end of the bed as it was (he had kicked his shoes off before he lay down) and Sam considered, then took hold of each of Dean’s legs in turn and shifted them, spreading them so that they angled towards the corners of the bed and gave him more room. Dean gasped again at the strain, and the friction of his jeans against his crotch. “Kinky,” he murmured, grinning up at Sam. “Wanna tie my feet, too?”

“I’ll consider it,” Sam replied, grinning back. “You going to be good and stay like that for me?”

Dean’s breath caught and his gaze sharpened, turning hungry; he licked his lips. “I’ll try,” he said huskily. “Depends what you’re plannin’ on doin’ to me.”

Sam stepped back to admire the scene for a moment. Dean lay (largely) helpless before him, naked from the waist up with his arms cuffed over his head and his legs spread almost obscenely. The tell-tale lump in his jeans was obvious, the way he was displayed, and Sam could feel a corresponding, and very unbrotherly, swelling in his own crotch. He swallowed.

“I could do… anything to you,” he murmured raptly, barely above a whisper.

“Wish you would,” Dean replied promptly, sweeping a heated glance down to Sam’s groin and back, then he bit his lip and his eyes went wide and worried.

“Dean…” Sam wrestled with his conscience, and as always when he did that lately, got that strange fluttering feeling deep inside, as though butterflies were settling on his soul. He’d been experiencing it, on and off, ever since he’d abandoned the Trials. His conscience won; at least for now.

“Sorry; nothing too kinky,” he said gently. “I’ve consented to be your Dom; but I’m your brother, not your boyfriend. There have to be limits.”

“I know,” Dean said quickly, his mouth twitching down. “I didn’t mean… I just… it was nice. When you… Touching?” His tone lilted at the end into a hesitant query and dammit, had he always been able to work those puppy eyes, or was that a newfound skill from being in touch with his inner canine?

“There can be touching,” Sam’s mouth quirked into a smile. “I do want you to feel good. Did you have anything in particular in mind?”

Dean licked his lips again. “You… said something about ear scratching, back at the cafe..?” he said, hopefully.

Sam grinned. “Yeah, I did say that,” he admitted. He moved carefully to sit at the head of the bed, beside Dean, and cupped his head in both hands. He traced his fingers around the delicate shells of his ears, squeezing with the gentlest of pinches. Pulled gently at the soft lobes, remembered to rub behind where he had seemed to enjoy it the most. It was easier than earlier that afternoon, sitting with his brother in his lap. It had been nice, but a little awkward; Dean was not a small man and certainly no lap dog. He responded just the same way now, closing his eyes and going still, his breathing quick and shallow but even.

“You like that?” Sam said, softly; it wasn’t really a question, his enjoyment was evident. Dean made a small noise of assent, almost a whine, and his eyes flicked open for a moment. His gaze was open and adoring; it made Sam’s breath catch in his throat.

Playing with Dean’s ears was all very well, but there were other parts of his head that called out for Sam’s attention. Like the way his hair bristled softly as Sam stroked his fingers through it, rubbing against the grain; and the muscular neck that seemed just a little too tense and in need of a soothing massage. Then he wanted to explore the geography of his brother’s face, feeling the contours of his finely chiseled features under the pads of his fingertips. He wanted to touch, to learn every minute detail of how Dean felt, and store it up against the remote but possible chance the opportunity would never recur. When the spell wore off completely… he wasn’t sure, didn’t think so, but it was possible Dean might change his mind.

In short, he was petting his brother, and despite what he’d said about limits, his ministrations were less like those of a masseur, or even a master fondling his dog, and more like the caresses of a human lover. Dean just accepted all of it, silently revelling in the attention, but he wasn’t too blissed out to be responsive. He turned his head into the lightest pressure of Sam’s hands, angling himself adroitly to maximise access wherever Sam happened to explore. If Sam idled, his fingers stilling as he just looked at Dean, drinking in his expression of peaceful ecstacy, Dean would nudge against his hands until he started up again.

The level of intimacy progressed quite naturally to kissing, since that was something they already did, though previously only on a highly prescribed basis. Sam slid his fingers up inside the collar, stroking Dean’s throat, then hooked them around the thin band of leather and slid his own body down the bed to get his face level with Dean’s. He snuggled against Dean’s side and threw one leg over his, his knee nestling just inside the V of Dean’s thighs, so he had the leverage to push himself up and half over his prostrate body without squashing him.

They kissed for a long time, a languid, back and forth exchange of tongues, and Dean was just as forward as Sam in exploring his brother’s mouth. When they kissed after fastening his collar, it was routine and fairly perfunctory. Dean was largely passive, willingly allowing Sam into his mouth but not presuming to respond. This was the first time he had really kissed Sam back, and Sam discovered that generated a whole new level of arousal. He ruthlessly crushed the urge to climb on top of Dean and grind their crotches together. Too far, too fast, and he’s your freaking brother, he reminded himself savagely.

He pulled away and Dean opened his eyes, looking quizzical and slightly disappointed at the disruption. His skin was flushed rosily warm, from the tips of his ears down to his chest, and his lips were full and moist. His green gaze on Sam’s was wide and slightly unfocused, darkened with wide blown pupils. He looked wrecked, and Sam felt the same way. It was definitely time to switch to something else, before he lost control of himself. He could rationalise the petting, and even the kissing, but going any further would be crossing an inexorable line. 

Not that he wouldn’t consider crossing it. But while Dean wasn’t exactly compromised by the spell any more, was at least mentally competent to make his own choices, Sam knew that he wasn’t entirely himself while wearing the collar, either. He would follow Sam’s lead, do things he would normally balk at, trusting Sam to manage him; and Sam was keenly conscious of his responsibility and the desire to be deserving of that implicit faith. This was something they needed to talk about, but not until the effects of the spell had completely worn off, and not while Dean was collared. And right now, he didn’t want to take off the collar and spoil everything.

“All right, you can stop looking at me like that,” he said, giving a playful tug to the collar in emphasis. “I’m not going anywhere. Just want to try something a bit different. You trust me?”

Dean snorted softly, his eyes crinkling. Clearly didn’t feel that the question dignified an answer.

“Okay,” Sam said, softly. “Hold still for me, Dean.” He laid his fingers over Dean’s collarbone and dragged them lightly down over his pectoral muscle, nipple, ribs and abdomen. Dean shivered at the touch and his breath hitched, but he didn’t move. Sam traced along the edge of his jeans and back up the other side, his touch feather light, and he knew it must tickle, but Dean was holding himself obediently still. A roguish twinkle lit Sam’s eyes and his lips twitched as his hand veered off from the mirror of its previous route and he traced his fingers over the sensitive skin of Dean’s armpit. Caressing, not deliberately tickling, but keeping the touch exquisitely gentle. He watched Dean’s face as he gasped, bit his lip and pressed his head back, arching his throat.

“Good, Dean,” Sam murmured. “Nice and still.” His fingers fluttered along Dean’s arm, stroked over his biceps and collarbone then across his throat, trailing over the collar. He ran his thumb over the plush swell of Dean’s lips, which parted (involuntarily?) on another light intake of breath. He dipped it into his mouth momentarily, stroking over his tongue and back out, trailing moisture over his cheek to his ear. Dean swallowed down a strangled sound and clearly strained not to turn his face towards Sam’s hand. Sam kept tracing, his fingertips winding patterns over Dean’s skin, watching as his throat fluttered and the muscles shifted beneath the surface, tensing with the strain of holding still. 

“So good for me,” he breathed, “you’re doing so well.” He reached Dean’s chest again, the nipple peaked and hardened from all the sensation. He flicked it lightly, startling a gasp, then gave it a gentle pinch and twist, and Dean shuddered. Sam leaned down and dragged his tongue over the nub and this time Dean did move, and groaned, arching up against Sam’s mouth.

Sam chuckled and withdrew, pressing down on Dean’s chest. “No, I said stay still,” he admonished gently. He waited until Dean had relaxed (but noted how his hands clenched around the leather loops of the belt restraints) then went back to exploring, mapping out his entire upper body with both fingertips and tongue. And teeth. He couldn’t resist, it was just too tempting, and he was careful only to give the gentlest of bites. No nipping, just the slight pressure of his teeth indenting flesh, not hard enough to bruise. 

He became lost in his exploration, until a barely audible but constant sound gradually impinged on his awareness. Dean was whining, a thread of wordless pleading wrapped around ragged, panting breaths. Sam raised his head to look at him. He was trembling, shivering uncontrollably and almost writhing as he ground his back down into the bed to keep still, and a thin sheen of sweat had broken out over his skin. His eyes were open but staring sightlessly, the pupils drowning the green of the irises like a twin eclipse.

“Oh, hey, shh; hey,” Sam murmured, and moved up the bed. “You okay? I’m sorry. You could have said stop, you know? Or there’s your safeword.” He dropped a kiss onto Dean’s lips, smoothed a hand through his hair. Dean made some sort of unintelligible noise and jerked, pressing his mouth hard against Sam’s. Sam kissed him for a moment, rough and hungry, all wet tongues and clashing teeth, then drew back. Dean whimpered.

“I know, shh, it’s okay. You’re good; you did good. My good boy.” Sam whispered and stroked Dean’s face as he settled gradually, the shivering subsiding.

“D…” Dean tried to speak, swallowing around the word. “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Sam asked, gently.

“Don’t… safeword… don’t want… stop,” Dean stuttered, and screwed up his face. It wasn’t terribly articulate, but Sam thought he understood.

“Yeah, you never do, do you,” he sighed, and dropped another kiss onto his mouth, then his forehead. Safewords were wasted on Dean, because he always wanted to push himself, to prove himself; heedless of discomfort, and disdainful that anything really bad could happen, compared to the kind of ordeal he was put through on a regular basis by the job. Had been put through by the Naga; or in Hell. Really, Sam had to admit, he had a point; but it wasn’t Sam’s point. And he should have been mindful of that, and taken better notice of how Dean was reacting.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “I got carried away. You’re so… I should have been paying better attention. Here, wriggle up a little.” He helped Dean shift himself further up the bed to lessen the stretch on his arms, shoved with his knees to move his legs closer together.

“‘M fine, Sammy,” Dean murmured. “I can take it, I just…”

“I know, Dean. You’re always fine, until suddenly, you’re not. And I don’t want you getting to that point. This was meant to be enjoyable.” His voice cracked a little with remorse.

“Sam. Sammy.” Sam looked up at the insistence in Dean’s tone. “It was,” Dean went on. “Was enjoying it. You didn’t... Don’t feel guilty.” His eyes were warm, and anxious.

Sam reached up and started to unbuckle one of the belts, to free Dean’s nearest hand. Dean made a soft noise of protest.

“It’s okay,” Sam reassured him, “just the one. I wanna cuddle.” And if there was any grousing about that, Dean was wearing his collar and could just do what Sam told him and no nonsense. Sam got the belt undone finally and Dean dropped the hand straight to his head, started stroking Sam’s hair. Okay then, maybe there was going to be no nonsense.

“Just a minute,” he said, hauling himself upright, and Dean made another plaintive sound. “Just want to get under the covers,” Sam explained, dragging them down and out from under Dean’s body. He divested himself of his own shirt and tee, then pulled the bedclothes back up over the both of them. He lay down and curled himself against Dean’s side, resting his head in the crook of his arm, and Dean angled his hand and went back to stroking Sam’s hair. Sam felt a kiss being pressed to the top of his head, as Dean murmured,

“You worry too much. I won’t break apart on you, Sam. ‘M not made of glass.”

“I know,” Sam yawned, suddenly sleepy. “Just want you to be safe. I’m responsible for you, gotta take care of you. Not sure I’m very good at it yet.”

“You’re doin’ just fine,” Dean whispered, and kissed him again. Sam hooked a leg over Dean’s and wound an arm around his middle, holding him close. Was drifting off, when Dean murmured his name.

“Sam?”

“Mm?”

“I’m… Can I… I mean, I - I just need…” Dean seemed to be struggling, and Sam fought to re-engage his sleepy brain to work out what he might be asking for.

“What is it? Just spit it out,” he said, shifting a little to look into Dean’s face, and pulling his arm back slightly across his stomach. Dean hissed in a breath and swallowed. His cheeks had turned a little pink.

“Uh, the - all the touching,” he said, thickly. Swallowed again and nervously licked his lips. “I could do with… I mean, can I - do I have your permission..?”

Ohh, right. Of course. A part of Sam twitched in empathy. And he’d even asked, although with the way Sam was lying practically on top of him, he couldn’t get away with anything sneaky and probably knew it. Still, Sam had wound him up, only fair to let him… wind back down again.

He laid his head on the pillow, facing Dean, to give his arm some freedom of movement. It was Dean’s left, probably not the one he would have favoured, but he’d have to deal, because Sam couldn’t be bothered messing around with the belts any more.

“Yeah, go ahead. You earned it,” he said, with a small smile. He fully intended to watch, and wondered how that would float Dean’s boat. He was feeling pleasantly turned on himself, after everything, but not to the extent it really needed attention; that was likely to change though, if he lay here, a close audience as Dean took care of himself.

Dean’s flush deepened but he closed his eyes and snaked his arm under the covers. Some fumbling and a gathering frown told Sam he was struggling to undo his jeans one handed, and he was about to offer his help when Dean’s expression cleared and he settled back, going mostly still; but Sam was close enough to feel the small movements of his shoulder, transferred along his arm from his hand. He watched Dean’s face intently, every muscle twitch, every soft gasp, every swallow. He was no stranger to Dean jerking off; they had shared a room for nearly their whole lives, it was hard to keep something like that completely secret; but he had never been so close while he did it, had never had tacit permission to watch like this. It was a thrill. And he could do more than just watch; Dean was collared, which meant that right now, Sam was his _de facto_ master. He could call the situation any way he liked, at least until Dean begged off.

Sam put out his hand and ran it down Dean’s arm, finding his hand under the covers and gently clasping the wrist. Dean’s hand froze and his eyes flew open, only inches from Sam’s; he regarded him, not wary exactly, but - puzzled, maybe? Anticipatory?

“Carry on,” Sam said, softly. “Don’t mind me.”

Dean’s expression flickered through a range of emotions, finally settling on arousal, and his hand beneath Sam’s started moving again as his eyes drooped closed. Sam briefly considered ordering him to keep them open, but that could wait for another time; there was a lot to process here and he didn’t want to spook him. He kept his hand lightly on Dean’s wrist, letting it ride with the motion he dictated, no more than a passive observer. His other hand, his own left, went to his own jeans, and he made no attempt to cover what he was doing as he unfastened them and slid himself out of his boxers, setting up his own rhythm beside Dean. His knuckles grazed Dean’s thigh with each flick of his wrist, and Dean spread his legs wider, pressing back against Sam as he increased his speed.

Sam squeezed Dean’s wrist lightly. “Gently,” he ordered, “wait for me…” Dean moaned and tensed, and Sam could feel him gripping tightly, willing himself not to come, and _fuck_ if that wasn’t the biggest turn-on ever…

He pulled harder at his own cock, which needed little encouragement, and his previous good intentions took a dive out of the window. “Open your eyes, Dean,” he said throatily, “watch me…”

Dean peeled his eyes open and stared at Sam, his expression dazed. Sam stroked his thumb in little circles over Dean’s wrist as he jacked himself, staring into that green, lust drenched gaze, until he was ready to spill.

“Okay, keep up with me now; we’ll do it together. Come for me, Dean,” he instructed, gasping, and Dean’s breath hitched unevenly as his wrist started jerking again. Sam let him set the speed, matched his own rhythm to Dean’s, because it seemed like the easiest option right now. Then Dean was convulsing, suddenly and silently, his eyes screwing involuntarily closed, and Sam came only moments behind him, shuddering out his own climax all over Dean’s leg.

“Fuck, Sam; dammit!” Dean swore huskily, a note of awe in his voice. “You kinky son of a bitch…”

Sam grinned, light headed, ducked his head over Dean’s arm and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then he threw back the bed covers before they got too messy and hopped out of bed to fetch a washcloth. He cleaned Dean’s leg and his stomach, where their come pooled in glistening trails like crazy glue. Dropped the soiled cloth onto the floor for later and pushed his face into Dean’s belly, nuzzling and licking at the last remnants of salty residue on his skin.

“Sam…” Dean breathed, hand in his hair, and he shivered. “Christ, that was… where’d that come from, anyway? You suddenly got the hots for me, little brother?”

Sam pressed his lips to Dean’s skin and blew out, before tilting his head to look up with a grin.

“Who said anything about sudden?” he asked.

“So… if that was you being my brother, what could I expect if you were my boyfriend?” Dean teased, referencing Sam’s earlier reluctance to head off the reservation (and that hadn’t lasted very long, after all!).

Sam bit him, closing teeth none too gently around his nipple, making Dean draw his breath in sharply. “Shuddup,” Sam growled, sucking to comfort where his teeth had just been.

“That… going to be a thing, now?” Dean’s voice was low and breathy.

“Maybe. You want it to be?” Sam grazed the nipple with the edges of his teeth, followed it up with his tongue, noting the way Dean shivered. 

“I… I want whatever you want, Sammy.” Now his tone was soft and vulnerable, reaching right to Sam’s heart as well as his softening dick. He could tell he meant it, wasn’t just saying what he thought Sam would want to hear, but, God; did Dean know what he was handing to Sam with an open-ended admission like that? The love, trust and surrender nearly freaked him out, they were so overwhelming.

Then again, things had never really been any different, had they. He’d always had this power over his brother, Dean had just hidden it better in the past - or Sam had been wilfully oblivious. The collar - the submission - didn’t change anything in Dean’s nature; they just made him honest, stripped him of his protective masks and armour to expose the gentle, beautiful soul beneath. A soul which had always been Sam’s, which he had given over the night he had carried him as a babe in arms from the nightmare of their burning house. Suddenly, Sam had an inkling he could understand why Dean covered so much of his real feelings with jokes and snark. It was a tip he would gladly follow right now.

“Dammit, Dean,” he murmured against his skin. “You’re a corrupting influence, you know that?” He kissed the abused spot on Dean’s chest.

“ _I’m_ a corrupting influence..?” Dean’s voice rose in mock indignation. “I’m the one who’s cuffed to the bed, helpless to your every whim, and you’re gonna blame me for what your depraved mind drags up?”

Sam growled and nipped at the air just above the nipple, then dropped another kiss onto the little peak of flesh. “Yup; you keep saying things like that, definitely corrupting. I’m only trying to meet your high expectations. ‘S’a tough job, I hope you realise.”

Dean chuckled silently, his chest vibrating. “Yeah, yeah, I should be thanking you for making you want to bite me, I get it.”

“Mmhm,” Sam hummed, just brushing the skin with his lips.

Dean bent forward and planted another kiss on the top of Sam’s head. “Thank you,” he whispered. Sam knew he wasn’t talking about the biting. Or even the almost-not-quite-sex.

“Okay, you good now?” he asked. “Because I really wanna sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Dean replied softly. After a minute, he spoke up again, hesitant; shading to anxious. “Are you..? I mean; was it..? For you? I - I tried, but you said together, and... I didn’t mean to, but-”

“Shh,” Sam hushed him, pressed another kiss to his chest. “It’s okay. It’s fine. That was… more than fine. You were perfect, Dean. Now go to sleep.” He nudged his head under Dean’s arm and burrowed close. “If you need me to loosen the other belt, say so… or just wake me…”

Dean’s breath huffed just short of a chuckle and he resumed stroking Sam’s hair. “Yeah, don’t worry about me,” he murmured. “Think I can slip out of a single belt, the amount of practice I’ve had, getting free from monsters. Anyway it’s fine, I like it. Makes me feel… secure.”

Sam understood. Because along with the responsibility, when Dean was collared and restrained, he ditched all the psychological baggage. All the fears and guilt and insecurities, and the pent-up anger, which riddled his indomitable spirit like scars. Chafing him, provoking, tormenting him like a bear faced with taunting, snapping hounds. When he put himself into Sam’s hands, it was like the hounds ran, cowering, and he was at peace, free to be himself without fear of the consequences. Free to be open, and honest, and trusting. Free to be loving, and loved.

Sam realised that if he wanted Dean’s absolute honesty, to know the full extent of his commitment, he had to ask him while he was wearing the collar, not out of it. The bondage didn’t compromise him; it liberated him. Sam had been looking at it from completely the wrong angle and, because of that, had been failing his brother. Every time he took the collar off, he had been putting Dean back in chains. Dean needed this; needed him; and if he let himself be more… involved, it wasn’t nearly as onerous as he’d once thought. 

He smiled as he reflected on what had just happened. It had been intense, and unexpected; he had surprised himself, and he looked forward to more. But more than anything, he felt it had helped him to understand Dean. They would have that conversation, tomorrow, to find out just how far Dean was willing to go; although Sam was pretty certain by now it would be a mere formality. _‘Whatever you want,’_ he had said, and the feeling rippled through him again, the words like a key releasing chains which had bound Sam since… longer than he could recall. Long before Dean’s capture and force-collaring by the Naga; before even the Cage, or his death and fateful resurrection at Cold Oak, or… even before Stanford. Strange, how binding Dean could unfetter them both. Yet it had taken further bonds; the spell holding Dean under its influence, binding his voice and his conscious mind; to wake Sam up to what was really going on - what could be going on, between them, if he dared to allow it.

He snuggled closer; fell asleep to the sensation of Dean’s fingers ghosting through his hair and his brother’s heartbeat, deep and steady beneath his cheek.

*** * * * ***

The spell seemed to have worn off completely by the morning, as for the first time in days, Dean woke to a chorus of bird song instead of the diminutive street market babble of ‘Oy! Get lost! Hey, darling, over here..!’ But what the Colonel had told Dean, and later reminded him, that first time they thought they were saying goodbye? 

_“And by the way, as an honorary dog, there’s something you should know. Dogs aren’t really man’s best friend. I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory, but the real reason we were put here was to…”_

Dean hadn’t forgotten; but that was one secret he would take to his grave. Pack solidarity, and all that. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone would believe him. He wasn’t sure he believed it himself. Nah, the joker had probably just been messing with him. Still; he’d keep an eye out, to be sure. He felt like it was his responsibility now, too, as an honorary canine. And he was still a genuine, card-carrying member of the collar club (as the Colonel had put it). He smiled at the thought, putting his hand up to feel the slight, comforting restriction of the leather around his throat, as he packed their bags away in the car. He would be keeping it on for good, now; Sam had told him so, first thing this morning, sealing the promise with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) What the Colonel told Dean (in italics) was word for word canon; but the spell wore off just as he was about to reveal the secret, and Dean only heard barking at the end. Of course the spell didn’t wear off in this story, so Dean must have heard the whole thing. I have no idea what, if anything, the show intended beyond a joke, and I think it’s funnier to keep it a mystery.
> 
> 2) The little internal flutter Sam feels when he’s having qualms is not his conscience; it’s Ezekiel/Gadreel, hiding away inside him, mending the damage from the Trials and laying low from the other angels. Sam doesn’t yet know he’s there. Gadreel isn’t bothered about the collar or whatever else Sam and Dean get up to, as long as there’s no danger of him being discovered; all that sort of thing really doesn’t concern angels imo. They think humans are unfathomably eccentric even when acting ‘normally’. He's already told Dean as much, which is why he's not bothered by having a hidden audience.
> 
> 3) Next post in the series will address the Naga - what happened to Dean (he didn't go to Purgatory) in between s7-8, which is the starting point or catalyst for his eventual collaring and this entire 'verse.


End file.
